


Right Twice a Day

by divisionten



Category: Ratchet & Clank
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Fanfiction, Post Into the Nexus, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divisionten/pseuds/divisionten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nefarious at this point in Ratchet and Clank's "career" (in so much as intergalactic heroism was a career and not an act of goodwill with added benefits) rubber banded between unwilling teammate and broken-clock-that-was-right-twice-a-day villain. Unfortunately, this is what happens when standard time catches up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twelvepercentofaplan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvepercentofaplan/gifts), [blazichu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazichu/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nefarious succeeds once in a blue moon. Who knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is inspired by a short story of Blazichu's, which is in the fourth chapter of the incredibly talented writer's anthology of shorts, Across the Spectrum. Go read them. Now. I'm not going to say which one, as the title's a spoiler.

Nefarious at this point in Ratchet and Clank's "career" (in so much as  _**intergalactic heroism** _ was a career and not an act of goodwill with added benefits) rubber banded between unwilling teammate and broken-clock-that-was-right-twice-a-day villain.

Unfortunately for the duo, everything was coming up Grok-fertilized roses today, that is, big, mean, and mutated in deadly and awkward ways.

"Laaaaaaawreeeeeeence!" Nefarious screeched. "Prepare… the Soul Ray."

"Extra funk not included?" Ratchet quipped, as he kept an eye on the precarious ledge behind him, backed pretty squarely in a corner. He was out of almost all his ammo and none of his polymorph guns had any affect on those with independent thought. Damn Grummels and their vague sense of ethics. Oh, shooting a bomb that exploded into a ballfull of smaller bombs to explode some dude's face was A-OK, but turning him into a chicken violates intergalactic code?

Nefarious shot himself backward behind Lawrence's forcefield, and tossed out a tiny, squeaking, fat toad into the chamber. The fields were locked down to Lawrence's and Nefarious's signature (and probably the damn toad's as well), otherwise Ratchet would have followed him through and done some creative 'upgrades' to Nefarious's and Lawrence's faces with his wrench. Or just jet-boot backwards from whence they came and forget the whole damn affair with an oil smoothie (Clank) and a Double Bypass Burger (Ratchet) at the nearest Galaxy Burger drive-thru, Aphelion's protests of eating in the vehicle be damned.

Actually, scratch the quote marks on 'upgrade'. Given Nefarious's face and mental condition both, he could use a little blunt force trauma.

"Soooooo… what do you plan to do to me?" Ratchet asked, praying Nefarious, even with the upper hand, would remain as intelligent as he normally was. That is, beaten handily in a trivia contest against a bag of rocks and a wet noodle.

"I am soooooo glad you asked, squishy! A Soul Ray is a device of my own design." Ratchet internally breathed a sigh of relief.

"With extensive modifications, of course," Lawrence piped in, causing the duo to rethink their previous stance on the whatever-it-was.

"Yes, yes, right, of course," Nefarious replied over Lawrence, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Well, the point is, Ratchet, for a squishy, you're unkillable. My Soul Swap swaps the closest two souls with each other, just like," Nefarious held up one metallic hand, rubbing fingers together to make a dull snapping sound, "that. And what are the two closest organic life forms? This isn't like your polymorph guns, fur brain. You'll have your memories, but you'll be stuck in a toad! Try holding a gun or talking back like THAT!"

"Exceptionally witty remarks, sir," Lawrence droned, sarcasm not lost on Ratchet or Clank.

"Thank you, Lawrence. Is the beam ready?"

"As ready as you seem to be sir, so, another minute or two would do it."

Ratchet looked around in a panic. He was trapped in this room, and Nefarious was right, the nearest other thing with a soul, a real soul, would be that damn fat toad hopping around and shooting out its tongue. Ratchet's fur fluffed up in irritation.

This was  _ **not good**_.

Something tugged gently at the elbow of Ratchet's thick Leviathan-hide protective suit and gripped on.  _ **Clank**_. He squeezed Ratchet lightly on the forearm, and Ratchet clamed down, ears slowly lowering on his head. That symbol never failed Ratchet, because it meant  _ **Clank had a plan**_.

Ratchet smirked momentarily before the beam finished powering up, hitting him square in the chest.

With a force vaguely reminiscent of that massive glowing blue alcoholic beverage the Q-Fore chipped in to get him on his twenty-second birthday (that is to say, like being punched in the gut by Qwark's robotic stand-in).

And everything faded to black.

* * *

Nefarious watched from the other side of the forcefield practically exploding with glee. No matter what he tried to do to the fuzzy little Lombax (when he wasn't begrudgingly assisting him for some inane reason usually involving the protection of his own chassis), he always survived. Better to swap his soul into something that couldn't carry a gun, or, heaven forbid, smack talk, before trying to do the squishy in again. He vaguely considered the toad, now in Ratchet's body, unable to feed himself. He'd keep the furball as a pet, at least. The toad didn't do anything wrong, and he could have fun every morning taunting what had once been Ratchet with its morning organic sustenance needs.

He'd offer Clank a position on his team, a reprogram, or a trip to the trash chute. It was only sporting.

When the laser fired, and Ratchet doubled over backwards, Nefarious let out a whoop of glee. The toad nearby croaked angrily, and began hopping toward the field. Nefarious realized a minor problem. Ratchet had fought these creatures plenty of times before; he probably knew they shot acidic bile.  _ **Metal-dissolving**_  acidic bile. And this toad, as Ratchet had observed, could pass through the force field, shoot him and Lawrence, and have Clank reverse the process before he could say…

"Stop him! Stop Ratchet, Lawwwww~ oh, Lance," his soap opera memory banks began to moan out lustfully, as a bit of steam pooled out of Nefarious's own cranium dome. "Love me like you meeeeeean it, Lance!"

"Oh, darling, I'm not Lance," Nefarious continued to croon in another soap actor's voice. "I am…" Lawrence smacked Nefarious square on the head, causing a soft reboot. "wwwwwwrence!"

"Yes, sir?" Lawrence asked plainly, giving his incompetent boss the side-eye.

"Stop. That. Toad."

"Yes, sir. Straightaway." Lawrence pulled a Liquid Nitrogen Gun out from one of the panels and shot an icy stream out, instantly freezing the toad solid, the toadsicle immediately shattering into a billion fragments of frozen amphibian.

"No kill like overkill, huh?"

"Of course Law- wait. Ratchet?" If Nefarious's eyes could pop from his sockets, they would be, as Ratchet unsteadily lifted himself off the ground, wobbling on his legs. Ratchet grinned, a little lopsided.

"That wasn't… you weren't…"

"Shall I fire again, sir?" Lawrence asked, before looking closer at the armor. "Or perhaps not. We would have to disrobe the organic first, and  _ **I**_  am more than intelligent enough to get into wrench-swinging-range to subdue him."

Nefarious was in a state of shock so strong that his processors did not even have the chance to short out and cycle to soap operas again, or he might have actually tried to take up Lawrence's idea.

"Well, this is an interesting predicament," Lawrence stated, addressing Ratchet. "Clearly my calculations were… off. Why don't I call today a truce, and we can try again next week or so? I could go for a spot of warmed engine fluid myself right now." Lawrence lowered the field from the passage Ratchet and Clank used to enter, waving his hand to shoo them off.

"Y'know what, sure. I'll take you up on it. Next Tuesday?"

"Three PM sharp, don't be late."

"Yeah, thanks, Lawrence," Ratchet said, wearily, as he hobbled out of the doorway, seemingly disoriented and in quite a bit of pain, Nefarious slowly coming back online as Lawrence re-raised the forcefield. Next week, indeed.

* * *

Ratchet wobbly walked himself back out to Aphelion. His legs were too tall, his perspective was too high, and he couldn't mentally parse all of the new sensory input. Thank goodness Aphelion had autopilot; he needed it right now.

He stared at the cockpit door.

"Retinal scan, tin can," came Clank, no,  _ **'Clank'**_ , from behind him, wriggling in the harness. "Oh, just let me off. You're programmed in, too."

"Certainly," came Ratchet's voice from Ratchet's body that was, well, not Ratchet. "I currently feel as though the contents of your stomach are about to rise through your digestive system. I think."

"Sick bags in the glove compartment, pal. Just keep it down another min- OK." Ratchet said, in a mid-range monotone despite any amount of emotion he tried to have in his voice, as Aphelion clicked open. Ratchet scurried in his tinier-than-before metallic body into the copilot's seat, as Clank hoisted himself up, in a movement that was the exact antonym of grace.

"Nice acting, by the way. Guess those Agent Clank holovids are paying off in more ways than one," Ratchet said, honestly, as he pulled out a wax-lined paper bag from the shelf in the dashboard, passing it to Clank. "Hey, Aphelion? Meridian City. And look up the address of a doctor familiar with lombaxes. Vet if you have to. And… thanks."

Aphelion hummed, taking off in a swift motion while Clank pried open the bag.

"How do I…?" he asked, trailing off.

"Breathe- y'know, draw in some air, through your nose, bag over your mouth. If you actually do puke, though, you'll know." Ratchet reached over, buckling Clank into his seat as he sat heaving. "Don't answer this now, but, uh, getting us shot was your plan?"

Clank nodded slowly into the bag.

"That means… you knew you had a soul. Nefarious said a swap between the two closest things."

"I knew you two were acting strangely," Aphelion chipped in.

"And yet, you still let us in, thanks," Ratchet said, gently stroking the dashboard with his metallic three-pronged hand, in an odd mix of appreciation and sarcasm.

"Oh, I know how to deal with stowaways," Aphelion chirped back, a smile in her voice without the visible means to articulate it.

Clank heaved again, realizing only too late that the first thing he ever tasted in his life was Ratchet's own hydrochloric acid mixed with a half-digested protein bar.

Clank winced at the smell. Smell and taste were new and overpowering. Hearing was as though he had his sensors stuck on max, with no means to tune things out. Only his sight was tolerable, as well as touch, but Clank knew most of the latter was from wearing the full bodysuit between him and anything he was brushing up against or handling, from the comparable sensory overdrive of his exposed tail swishing methodically. How was Ratchet so… calm?

"How are you functioning?" Clank asked, feeling considerably better as he rolled the top of the bag shut and passed it to Ratchet to incinerate.

"Well,  _ **I'm**_  not yakking up  _ **your**_  breakfast."

"It would be difficult, seeing as I do not possess a stomach, nor a breakfast to have had. I was referring to how you handle my processes so well."

"Meh, been a robot plenty before. Remember the Biobliteratior exhibit in the Meridian City museum? I'd been back a bunch to spar in a no-grav environment while you were off on supply runs to Sigmund. After the tenth time of getting hit, I got used to having a microprocessor for a brain, and the only thing that's throwing me for s loop is your height. You, on the other hand…" Ratchet trailed off. "You have vertigo like nobody's business."

"That does seem to be the case, yes," Clank said, feeling his- Ratchet's?- his tail thump indignantly. He breathed through his nose again, an odd feeling of wind rushing in, causing his entire core to expand like a balloon. He could feel his stomach beginning to settle as he shifted in his seat, realizing yet another new sensation, that his own brain must have blocked out due to the rush of adrenaline and other chemicals organics poured into themselves in times of dire survival.

He was in some form of severe discomfort that he could not put a finger on.

"Everything seems to be in pain, Ratchet. Now I finally begin to understand what the sensation actually means."

"I have already found suitable medical assistance, Clank. Please just relax until we reach Meridian," Aphelion hummed.

"Need another bag?" Ratchet asked helpfully.

"I think the worst has passed- quite literally, I might add- but it would not hurt to have another on standby."

"Done," Ratchet said, passing Clank another bag. "So… I know I asked this before, but, uh, you have a soul? Like, not just your programming continuing to run over the Wi-Fi after your chassis erodes, but a real soul?"

"You are aware that the Zoni are beings of pure energy that must wear some sort of armor as a shell to be visible to the naked eye, correct? It seems as though I am one of the logical end results of that."

"A Zoni inhabiting a Blarg-made robot instead of those weird metal armor things?" Ratchet asked, head tilted. "Huh. It makes the fact that Orvus was your dad make a whole lot more sense, at least. Wonder if you look like a Zoni," he added, shaping his hands into an invisible outline of a massive head and tiny body as he talked, "out of your, ahem, shell. It also makes a lot more sense how you can enter the Netherverse. Didn't they try a test run with a bunch of bots in Kerchu after you?" Ratchet shuddered. Both of them had read the news reports following the incident; it wasn't pretty.

"I do not have the deigns to answer that question. Either of them," Clank responded dryly. "But if I ever just get ripped from my chassis, I should just be able to re-bind with it. At the very least, Sigmund would know."

Ratchet shook his head low, unable to sigh. Not breathing was still the most awkward result of robothood. He reached over, and slowly slid the heavy helmet off Clnak's head, mindful of his gigantic ears. Clank blinked, realizing how much lighter his head had become, twisting his neck.

"Y'know what? Let's get all of that armor off you, and then you should flatten the seat and nap the rest of the way," Ratchet said, unbuckling Clank's seatbelt as he began unhooking the latches on the armored plates. Clank felt lighter and lighter with each plate of the armor removed, realizing just how small he was for an adult organic (or, in Ratchet's case, still a kit for his species, but an adult by intergalactic law standards).

Clank was now stripped down to just the jumpsuit, and the thin cloth he could feel between the jumpsuit and his fur that was some kind of undergarment. Clank slipped off the gloves and boots, flexing his fingers and massive toes, before pressing the seat controls and curling horizontially.

By the time Ratchet had stowed the Carbonox plates, Clank as already sound asleep, making long, low noises from his snout.

"Hey…" he hissed quietly at Aphelion. "I  _ **snore**_? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Find me a lombax who does not snore, and I promise to sell you a lovely bridge in Tyrrranosis," she cooed, as she dimmed the cockpit lights.


	2. 1AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man, wouldn't going blind be SO MUCH FUN? Aww Yeah!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_OMG, Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I am a sucker for reviews, and the two I got this afternoon really motivated me to finish this chapter before I finished for the night. You guys ROCK._ **

Ratchet really did not want to wake Clank up, but, despite Ratchet’s fuzzy body weighing only about 40 kilos, Ratchet couldn’t carry something as oblong as his own body in Clank’s tiny form. He briefly considered sliding him onto the transport sledge, but the pull bar was his real height, not his current- and, while the basic functions were something he was able to handle, Ratchet did not know how to run some of Clank’s more advanced processes like his propellers or Gelonium butterfly wings.

Ratchet poked Clank on the head.

And again.

When he realized the third, fourth, and fifth times weren’t the charm, he opened the minifridge they’d installed in the storage space in the rear (to Aphelion’s chagrin, naturally), moved a few soda bottles out of the way (Ratchet had enough sense to draw the line at soda, even with autopilot, being drunk in the vehicle was a surefire way to be ambushed by pirates or, far worse, make an arse of oneself while ordering drive-thru at 2AM local time), and crammed himself inside.

Ten minutes later on max settings, Ratchet had a fridge full of soda-slushies (that he sadly couldn’t enjoy) and himself- one frosty metal box with limbs. He waddled back out before realizing he could have just used one of the glass bottles of Nuka-Cola, already chilled.

 ** _Eh, bygones and all that_** , he thought, as he was tossed mercilessly across the cabin by an uncoordinated (but highly powerful) kick and a scream he didn’t know his own body could produce as Clank jolted unceremoniously to wakefulness.

 ** _Yeah, this was better_**. He would have lost a soda (all 28 bolts worth of precious carbonated sugar water), and, worse than anything, been forced to clean up after it.

* * *

 

Clank laid belly-up, still in the olive-colored jumpsuit, on a sofa in Al’s pretty spacious apartment above his Meridian City Robo-Shack, mostly unused unless Al happened to hop by Polaris for oxy-sensitive parts needed at his main emporium, now a full city block in Metropolis. Being forced into cyborg-hood did **_wonders_** for his intergalactic reputation as a robotics genius, and he was becoming nouveau riche. Well, nouveau riche with the smarts to invest wisely, fairly low cost hobbies that were mostly fulfilled by work, a girlfriend who didn’t care for expensive displays of affection, and enough humility to not wear his money on his sleeves. So, essentially, Al with a hefty savings account and a big enough heart to provide Clank free repairs for life- and beyond, depending who went out of commission first.

The apartment was certainly not intended for a stopover so he could have a jump-distance trip to see IRIS on occasion. **_(As mentioned, a girlfriend who didn’t care for expensive displays of affection, check)_**

“Well, well,” hummed the black-furred Cazar doctor as she clicked uncomfortably with her tongue, running some basic scans with her instrumentation, flinching her snout only slightly at ‘Ratchet’s’ residual toad intestine smell, courtesy of one Lawrence robot and one Liquid Nitrogen gun, natch. “I’ll be honest, Ratchet, I’m not seeing anything wrong,” she said, as she ran through her scan outputs, as well as a manual check of his mouth and nose for potential allergens and residue, hoping for a better clue. “If I were to guess, it’s extreme stress. We rely on you way too much around here. Rest, stick to dry food and water, and keep your stressors to a minimum.” She shrugged and packed away everything. “And it isn’t an ulcer, food poisoning, or anything of that nature, for certain, but if it persists more than three days, call me. Be glad I’m old enough to have worked on lombaxes before they vanished from this quadrant. You really should have a proper medical file with the Federation before doctors that know what to do with you start to retire. Your physiology is close enough to Cazar that someone inexperienced might suggest Cazar medicine, but different enough that some of those suggestions are actually toxic enough to kill you, especially nutrition needs.”

Clank sat up slowly, blinked, and nodded, shuddering internally at the thought.

“Good. Just make sure to take some taurine pills if you can’t keep down meat. You don’t need to start going blind on top of this,” she chided with a flick of her tail.

“Thanks,” Clank replied, mouth dry with the thought of mortality, as she passed him a prescription slip.

“Don’t give me that look, it’s an easy fix,” she said with a slight smile, and Clank couldn’t help but ease up a little. “Taurine’s normally over the counter, but a lombax of your size is going to need a dose they won’t have off the shelf. Worst case and they can’t fill it, get the pills for Cazar children and take one-and-a-half. Trying to split an adult pill to get the right dosage would be a nightmare.”

“Why?”

“ ** _Your_** height and weight? Three-sevenths an adult pill. I wouldn’t try it.”

Clank thought to himself how easy that would be to measure and cut in his own body- perfectly able to gauge weight and composition, combined with the lasers in his fingertips.

He looked over at Ratchet, attempting to turn his hands into propellers, getting one stuck halfway between, lodged into the side of his own chassis.

He’d fill the prescription or get the child’s pills, thanks.

* * *

 

The moment the doctor was out of the building, Clank glared at Ratchet, quickly realizing that glaring felt different when one only had upper eyelids.

“Really?” Clank asked dryly as he reached down to pick up Ratchet, feeling the hard metal in his fingers. Spatial awareness and the notion he was lifting and manipulating objects were old hat, but this was just plain **_weird_**.

“Okay, so your transforming stuff is new,” Ratchet replied sheepishly, ducking his head. “I didn’t exactly have helicopter blades as a Robo-Lombax.”

Clank instinctually let out an irritated puff of air, recognizing it as a sigh, as he sat Ratchet down on the sofa next to him and attempted to detangle the propeller blades.

“ ** _That’s_** smart,” Ratchet said, smacking Clank away with the hand that wasn’t twisted awkwardly into his side. “Wanna add bleeding to vomiting and potential blindness? ‘Cause I don’t. Don’t waste the nanobots in my system on stupid stuff. I’ll go downstairs and get a pro to do it,” he added, in Clank’s continual semi-monotone as he slid off the couch and clunked his way downstairs to the repair shop. “I’ll get you those pills and something to eat when I’m done. Just chill for a bit, yeah?”

“But Ratchet-“ Clank said, reaching out to chase after him as Ratchet reached the door.

“But **_nothing_**. I’m being selfish here, all right? I don’t want my body back worse than I left it,” Ratchet mocked, before closing the door. **_And you’re already in enough pain, you giant turd_** , he thought to himself with all the respect someone gives gum stuck to their foot. “Go take a hot bath and go back to bed, tin can.”

No sooner than the slam reverberated through the doorframe did it click back open again, Ratchet squinting sheepishly.

“I…. need to teach you how to use the bathroom, don’t I?”

* * *

 

One major embarrassment later (not helping things along was that Clank was perfectly **_waist height_** to Ratchet- **_shudder_** ) and Ratchet scurried back down the stairs. Enough movies, mindless action flicks though they were, and Clank had gotten good at reading others for acting- enough to realize that Ratchet, even in his own clunky square body, moved with quite a bit of fluidity. **_Catlike_**.

Reflexes from all their years as mercs were pretty ingrained in him.

Clank shucked off the jumpsuit and undergarments, and almost instinctually fluffed out his fur, tail swishing lazily behind, before turning on the bathroom taps. Clank took baths on occasion- in oil, for his joints. He’d been in water plenty of times too- salt and fresh, to swim, almost always on Ratchet’s back. He’d been sprayed down before, mostly to free himself of collateral organs from exploded toads or ameboids. But this was the first time he’d felt **_gross_** , like something slimy was on his chassis- **_skin_** \- and he needed to get it off.

Of course, the toad ooze that leaked into the suit may have been part of that.

* * *

 

Ratchet returned an hour and a half later to find Clank curled up like a yellow ball on the sofa in a pair of his work pants, his suitcase of clothes still open on the floor like a small fabric volcano, clutching a blanket that had probably covered him when he started sleeping. Now it was just bundled into a tighter ball in his arms like a stuffed animal.

And the snoring was War Grok levels of impressive. Ratchet was surprised he didn’t hear it from the city block below.

This time, Ratchet stayed far out of kicking distance as he opened up the bag of sweet bread he’d bought from a bakery he’d always been meaning to try, and fanned his hand over towards Clank in the hopes off wafting over the aroma. He was upset he couldn’t smell much of anything, but if they smelled half as good as they did the last time he’d passed then….

“whatisthat….?” Clank mumbled, twitching a giant ear as well as his nose, before being dragged along to the table by its scent like a zombie.

Vegetarian zombie wanted **_graaaaaaaiiiiiiiins_** …

Clank blinked twice, shook himself awake all the way down to a whipcrack in his tail, and sat at the kitchenette table.

“Bread. Water. Pills. They made you- me- **_gah_** , **_this is confusing_** \- they made custom dosage, so one a meal, twice daily if you aren’t eating meat. Skip if eating at least ¼ kilo of meat in 26 hours,” Ratchet said, as he switched to heli-pack mode and flew himself up to the table to sit at eye level to Clank, passing him the bag of bread and a water bottle, and a second containing the white bottle of pills, unfortunately auto-printed in Lombax, about as useful to Ratchet as a toupee. “Told the guys below I had some of my processors scrambled, and asked for the manual. Think I got the hang of flying!” he added, swapping between the propellers and hands a few times for good measure.

“Naht bahd, baht I’m naht letting yah fly oos antil yah shaw me yah can sahmwhere sahfe,” Clank replied in affirmative, cheek stuffed with a honey-roll. He’d forgive Ratchet’s body for forcing his first taste of food to be so terrible, as this more than made up for it. He swallowed it down, and gulped down some water, which was cool and oddly devoid of flavor. Well, it **_was_** a coolant and solvent for robotkind the galaxy over, it made sense it had no taste. Using that sugar-water excuse for a beverage that Clank now understood why Ratchet liked so much would corrode most circuits.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll practice by the docks so we just fall in the water,” Ratchet said, as he rolled his eyelids. “Just don’t go making me fat,” he joked. “Or eat too fast. Don’t need another upchuck, especially not on Al’s furniture.”

“I cannot make any promises,” Clank shot back, before shoving another piece of bread in his face, marginally slower this time. . ** _24 seconds slower_** , by Ratchet’s insanely precise timing.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but wait until you can have pie. I’m promising **_that_** , at least. No switching back until you’ve had pie, and that’s an order from a sergeant of the Rangers,” Ratchet commanded. It sounded so much more… official… with the Clank-sounding drone. “Anyway… about that… what do you think we should do?”

“Lawrence thinks the machine malfunctioned. I believe our best chance is to actually return next week and let them do the work for us- let them hit us again. Done.”

“Yeah, but they’ll just think the machine is busted again. I want to get in that control room and do some serious damage to it… after taking its specs.”

“What would you even plan on doing with the specifications for such a device?”

“Uhhhh… medicine, for one. Nanotech can’t fix everything, just surface wounds. There are still people stuck in wheelchairs, or with terrible disease…” Ratchet trailed off, realizing the implications.

“Diseases that would simply be passed off to **_someone else_**. It **_switches_** souls. It wouldn’t even work to put someone in such a predicament into an unused robotic body as there is no soul to switch, present company notwithstanding due to extraneous circumstances,” Clank said, pointing at his own chassis. “The Biobliterator is a much better option for those, is a reversible process as you have witnessed firsthand **_on multiple occasions_** , and is already actually offered in care. I heard Nefarious was **_furious_** when he found out it was saving lives, even after those who took it became robots, as it was not by his hand. So those with terminal diseases do not retain an organic form. They are not passing their disease off to another to live. And something like a lost limb is easily replaced. Al is proof of that, and he is doing his best to make sure as many organics as possible have access to quality, affordable limbs.”

“Point,” Ratchet replied, at a loss for a good reply or quip. He started to come up with something involving bemoaning a loss of taste, but if he had to choose taste or life, well, the choice was an easy one.

“Still doesn’t change how we convince Bad Daytime TV and his valet that it’s worked long enough for them to let their guard down to destroy the thing, though,” Ratchet finally settled on adding. “I **_think_** I could act like a toad or whatever creature they settle on tossing in there with us, at least long enough. But how do we get it to do what we need? They’ll probably overlook **_me_** me if they think the toad is me, especially if it acts coordinated somehow.”

“I… I do think I have an idea.”


	3. 9:45 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clank learns to walk, and Ratchet tries to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reviews! Thank you all so much :)
> 
> Oh, and I am making a Ratchet and Clank cosplay for NYCC and Otakon! Progress is posted at the end of the chapter.

Ratchet and Clank were quickly interrupted by Clank's body's indicator light flashing, Ratchet feeling it pulse through his tiny frame.

"Uh… what does that mean?" Ratchet asked worriedly, flicking at the antennae.

"Commlink… or a malfunctioning sprocket about to explode," Clank replied casually, as he ripped off another piece of sweetbread. "I cannot discern the two by looking."

" ** _Great_**."

"If it is the comms, pop open the front shutter and my comms screen will emerge. Otherwise, you need to go back downstairs for some repair. You should have at least half an hour before a complete failure."

Ratchet focused on opening the access panel, and a name provided itself to him in his mind. "It's a call from Tal," he said, uneasily.

Clank flicked at the screen and a visual popped up of the young Markazian. "Hey Ratchet. Clank," she said cheerfully.

Clank looked over to Ratchet, hiding behind the screen and gesturing as though he'd dropped a Protopet down his now nonexistent pants, and Clank, after his years of traveling with Ratchet, correctly guessed that he needed to keep up the ruse until otherwise noted. Ratchet had a point. Nefarious really did have ears everywhere- they spent hours poking through Aphelion pulling out wiretaps one afternoon, and while Clank's software had long been patched by Al to be hackproof beyond reasonable doubt (and **_un_** reasonable doubt in three star systems), lines of communication had at least two points, and at least one out of Ratchet and Clank's control.

"Hey, Tal," Clank said casually, stuffing the last piece of the honey roll into his mouth to give himself an excuse to keep his chatter to a minimum.

Tal narrowed her eyes. After that mess on the Phoenix with a very good hologusie, they'd all been on edge, each developing a code system in secret between Ratchet, Clank, Talwyn, and, of all people, Qwark (you never knew when you needed a meatshield, and it was pretty impressive the number of times he was impersonated). Each had a separate code to use with each other, leading to six separate codes between each pair.

"Hey, Ratchet, how many kliks between Sargasso and Igliak?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

Clank looked at Ratchet, as he tried to gesture passing the question off to him. While it ended up looking similar to an amateur Kerchu interpretive dance, Clank understood the sentiment.

"I don't think I know offhand. Hey, pal, what's the distance between Sargasso and Igliak?" Clank asked, flipping around the screen so Ratchet could talk to Tal directly.

"Miss Apogee, are you asking when one or both the planets are in aphelion or perihelion? It would affect calculations if you are looking for accuracy," Ratchet replied, attempting to mimic Clank's speech patterns. The actual intonations were easy; Ratchet's options were limited. But speaking with Clank's vocabulary was an adjustment.

Now, Tal raised an eyebrow almost to the ceiling. "When Igliak is in perihelion, if you don't mind."

"23 million kliks," Ratchet replied, using the location names and orbital information to do a quick mental calculation for the code reply. "And give or take three feet, if you really want to be accurate."

"Thanks, Clank," Tal said calmly, as she smiled and nodded knowingly. With the two of them, especially given the number of times Ratchet messed around with the Biobliterator in the museum, it didn't surprise her that Ratchet was temporarily parading around as a robot. But Clank? How could he even be a Lombax? And why would they pretend around her? The last time Ratchet fought against the museum exhibit and lost, he called her up excitedly to blast sound effects at her with his speakers before the process reverted him to normal (her retaliation with an airhorn and klaxon at 3AM local time was not yet forgotten).

"Hey, any chance I could pop by for a visit?" she asked the duo.

"Sure, why not?" Clank interjected, shrugging, as he flipped the screen back around. "Clank needed a tune up after our recent run in with Nefarious. Figured I'd have a second opinion, so we're at Al's in Meridian."

**_Ah_** , Talwyn thought to herself. **_This explains quite a bit, actually._** "Meet me at Ledonna's in the Arts District for lunch then? My treat."

"Yeah, wait, don't you need like, a reservation two years in advance?" Clank asked, almost slipping into his own more formal speech, but quickly catching himself.

"Family friends with the owner."

"Why did you…" Clank glared at Ratchet off screen, and Ratchet couched his words. "Why did you not inform us prior? Surely you knew Ratchet has been wanting to take you there before."

"Well, y'know, maybe he should have asked me directly instead of trying to drop hints," Tal responded slyly. "If he were to say, I dunno, 'Hey, Tal, can I take you on a date?' I might just say yes. But… anyway. I'll see about a 1 o'clock res. Asking them for a table during lunch rush is just rude." She waved with a light smile and ended the communication, and the screen automatically shrunk down and returned to Ratchet's chest, bumping repeatedly against it.

Clank took a finger and rubbed it to his temple. "Ratchet, you need to open your maintenance shutter," he reminded, wearily.

Ratchet cursed at himself internally, before concentrating on the process and letting the commlink back inside.

"We have a few hours, Ratchet. What should we do in the interim?"

" ** _We_**? Pal, **_you_** need to do two things between now and 12:30. **_One_**. Put on something nicer than work pants," Ratchet said, sweeping his blocky hand back towards the upended suitcase. "And **_two_** , which is probably going to take a few hours, given what I've seen so far, you're going to need to relearn how to walk."

* * *

 

"Oh, come **_on_** ," Ratchet whined, after the fourth time of Clank moving unsteadily, thankfully catching the edge of the breakfast bar before tumbling to the floor. "My feet are the size of a small hovercar and flat like yours."

"You don't come equipped with weight-bearing sensors."

"That's what my **_tail_** is for, tin can! You're just leaving it hanging there when you should be using it to correct your balance. OK, y'know what, sit. We're starting with some basics." Ratchet gently glided down from his perch on the bookshelf, and pulled out one of the kitchenette chairs, noting how weird it was to be looking up at everything that had once been eye level, yet pulling the chair didn't feel like exerting any energy at all. Clank clumsily sat down in the chair, sitting on the offending appendage with a slight yelp. Ratchet closed his eyes and shook his head gently, carefully detangling out his tail. Clank felt a low rumble in his throat before putting a hand over his mouth.

"Did I just… purr?"

Ratchet attempted to smile, and, upon realizing his mouth couldn't physically do that, settled for the equivalent he'd seen Clank do with his eyes. "All right, momentary break here," he said, before popping open the propeller from his antennae and hovered up to Clank's left ear. He reached out, and began scratching gently at the base, just where it met the side of his face. The ear shot up immediately, and Clank felt the purring return. His muscles, which had become quite tense from anticipating falling, begin to uncoil.

"You a bit more chill?" Ratchet asked, seriously, after a few well-placed scritches.

Clank breathed slowly, before blinking and looking down. "I know you are felid, but I didn't even consider you could purr. Or how…"

"Relaxing it is? Guess I just get too stressed out now. Saving the universe ain't exactly a leisure activity. But I figured you're probably still on sensory overload, so I want you to back up a bit. Flip yourself so you're facing the chair back and leave your back free."

Clank shuffled a little, accidentally whipping Ratchet in the face in the process.

"Well, it's a start. Uh, let me see if I remember…"

"Remember?" Clank asked, twisting his head to look at Ratchet on the floor.

"When I was nine, I got beat up pretty badly, and they cracked three vertebrae, here, here, and here," Ratchet said, gently poking at three spots on his tail. "I was the only fuzzy… **_person_** … in the orphanage, and the boys used to make fun of me for it, while the girls would chase me around and try to pet me or put a bell on me. One day, I just had enough of trying to be civil, and climbed up the rafters and hissed at people. One of the older boys yanked me down by the tail. **_That_** was an interesting hospital visit. I almost **_died_**. They gave me painkillers for a Cazar my age and my stomach had to get pumped."

"That's horrible."

"Yeah, well, past is past, and all that junk," Ratchet added quickly, trying to brush it off. "Point I was trying to make was that I had to relearn how to walk again, too, after they took the cast off my tail, and I'm trying to remember what they did for me in physical therapy. Uh, oh, right." Ratchet tapped the tail tip. "Let's start with the basics and see how well you can do 'em. First, just lift up your tail. All the way up, high as it can go, and see how long you can hold it there. I don't think you have my muscle memory, other than instinctual reflex, but you have my body. And I've been running and shooting for how many years now?"

Clank reached out gently and patted Ratchet on the head.

"Oh, for the love'a, I don't need any sympathy," Ratchet protested.

"When I came out of the factory on Quartu, the first thing that occurred was my older brothers trying to terminate me," Clank replied knowingly, as he straightened his back and held his tail aloft like his ass was on fire. Well, **_calmly_** on fire. "There is nothing wrong about understanding your past," he added, as he noticed a light twinge in the three spots on his tail Ratchet had pointed out. "Also, now I am aware of a quick means to cool your hot temper when you get upset," he added, pointing at the base of his left ear.

"Don't you dare," Ratchet snapped, as he went rummaging through the cabinet for something.

"It did feel nice," Clank said, as he noticed holding his tail was beginning to strain him. "I'm not sure I can hold this for much longer."

Ratchet stopped his internal timer. "Nah, you're good. Put it down and ninety seconds of rest. And yeah, I know it does, the matron used to give me ear scratches when I was really upset. But then the other kids heard me purr, and, well. Not even Cazars purr apparently. Makes me feel less…"

"Like a sapient?" Clank interjected, swinging a giant foot off the floor. "You should talk to Aphelion. I would not be surprised if she knew more about lombax anatomy. Or Doctor Jenta. If I'd known this bothered you, I would have asked some questions of her on your behalf."

"I guess."

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Ratchet."

"Yeah…" Ratchet replied, trailing off. "No offense, but I don't even know why I'm worried around you. You leak exhaust fluid all over Aphelion at least once a month." Ratchet let out a droning mechanical hum in lieu of a sigh as he hovered over the silverware drawer.

"You are worried about what Talwyn thinks?"

"I'm worried about what **_everyone_** thinks, seeing as, as far as I know, four exceptions, two **_deceased_** , there hasn't been a lombax in this entire universe for twenty-five years. But, yeah, Tal in particular."

"I think she would find your snoring cute, at the very least," Clank replied, sticking out his tongue as he wiggled his back to settle into the chair again.

"Oh, great. You knew, too?"

"Even with my audio sensors off, you still shake the entire cockpit," Clank replied dryly.

Ratchet came around with what he'd been looking for in the kitchen- a small spoon- which he used to thwack Clank with in the knee as he passed.

"Hey!" Clank yelled, as he rubbed the offending leg.

"That's for being an asshole."

"I thought you wanted this back the way you left it."

"Some things are worth it, Clank." Ratchet replied, before holding the spoon out flat in his palms. "Anyway. I don't think there's any reason to do the other strength exercises. You just need to learn control. Try knocking this out of my hands with just your tail."

Clank looked at the spoon in Ratchet's hands, and wagged the appendage in anticipation, before taking a calculated swing, smacking Ratchet right in his open mouth, and getting the fat, fuzzy tail tip stuck in his jaw.

"I'm going to pretend you did that on purpose," Ratchet replied, a little taken aback that his voice came forth with the same clarity as before, despite knowing that Clank's speakers were actually in the jaw joints on the sides instead of inside the mouth, more there for the organic's sakes than real function. Ratchet reached up, and carefully teased out the ball of fur lodged in his face; Clank shook it vigorously once free.

"All right, pal, we're not moving on until you get this right," Ratchet stated, before shutting the jaw mechanism completely to prevent future mauling by lombax, and holding out the spoon again.

* * *

 

"Would you… stop… fidgeting?" Ratchet asked, standing on Clank's knees as he attempted to knot a Windsor into Clank's tie. "It's hard enough doing this looking at my neck from the front. There. I'm done, you giant baby."

Clank stood up, and looked at himself in the mirror. He wasn't used to seeing Ratchet in formal wear- either loose, oversized work clothes or bodysuits and armor. The brown vest and tie suited him well, and, like anything the lombax touched, had been modified; the vest doubled as a harness for Clank, the support straps running underneath discreetly with the attach port a part of the back's design.

"Do you have my mat-compressor?" Ratchet asked, tidying up a bit so he wouldn't trip over anything left on the floor. Clank flashed a wrist, showing the green glowing device tied to his watch-band. "Good. Never know when we need firepower, unfortunately. What's in it right now?"

Clank flicked at the device. "Combuster, dopplebanger, three Mr. Zurkons, a few Groovitrons, both our arc lashers, and the Judicator. The remainder of your arsenal is in Aphelion. I feel confident in operating the combuster if needed; I know how to use all of these, of course, but I am concerned with the dexterity needed for operating the arc lasher and the kickback from the Judicator. I can just pass you anything else?"

"Sounds like a plan. I'll go hail down a cab," Ratchet replied, opening up the propeller on his head after unlocking the apartment door. Clank snorted a little. Ratchet was purposely taking every opportunity to use his heli-pak.

* * *

 

"I think I'm overdressed," Clank said, upon seeing Talwyn at the entry in a stiff tank top and loose work pants.

"Like I said, I know the owner," Tal replied. "We've got the private room in the back so I didn't really worry about getting fancy."

Ratchet gently kicked Clank in the shin.

"Uh…" Clank started. " So what is the numeric value of the square root of fish, soda, and eagle? Clank and I were arguing about it on the way over, and I'm pretty sure he's wrong."

Tal raised an eyebrow. The fake math questions setup of code **_was_** her secret code between herself and Clank. "It's 438. And, I've been having problems figuring out what it would be for lombax, water, and sun," she countered.

"Oh, that's pretty easy. 387. You don't even need a calculator for that."

"Wow, okay," Talwyn replied. "Yeah, I'm glad I got us the back room. Let's go have something good, okay?" 

[ ](http://imgur.com/pykaU03)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five brownie points if you can figure out how the square root code works (there's a hint that makes it possible to understand how it works, but not make it totally solvable since you're missing some info)


	4. 1:10 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talwyn gets her facts straight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon me, for I am a review whore. Your reviews make me feel like I must continue this ridiculous farce. Also, I really want to hug a lombax, So fluff. Very cuddles. Wow.

Clank sat in the stiff plush chair, mindful to raise his tail as he did so this time. The waiter brought out a booster seat for Ratchet, accepted without fuss. The space was small, and, once water and menus were handed out, the Terachnoid waiter bowed slightly, exited the room, and closed the door behind him.

“When you know what you want, we press the button and the waitstaff will come.”

“Seems a bit…” Clank said trailing off. “Oh, Clank, you’re equipped with that wiretapper detector Al added, right? Mind checking?” he asked, nudging Ratchet.

Ratchet leafed through his process logs, and ran the program, looked left and right between Clank and Talwyn, and grinned with his eyes. “Totally clear, guys. **_Finally_** , I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep that up without messing up.”

“Apologies for the ruse, Miss Apogee,” Clank added. For some reason, when he said it, he felt flush around his face and neck.

“Yeah, well, the codes tipped me off. And trust me on this one; these guys would be out of business fast if there were wiretaps here. This room’s usually used for politics or business. They sweep it pretty regularly.”

“Geez, Tal, what kind of friends did your dad **_have_**?” Ratchet asked, arms crossed.

The same kind of friends that could smuggle himself and a Lombax through to Kerchu City to use the Dimensionator, for one,” she sighed. “I finally find some leads on him, and he’s gone.”

“A lombax?”

“A woman apparently.”

“You must be referring to Angela Cross,” Clank interrupted. “It is good to know she is well. And you family as well, as it would seem.”

Talwyn frowned, and Clank distinctly heard her mumble “Cronk and Zephyr” under her breath. She looked up, noticing Clank’s (Ratchet’s? Clank **_borrowing_** Ratchet’s?) ear perked high and snorted a little. Ratchet’s head was turned away from the table, attempting to whistle innocently before letting out a foghorn.

“You idiots,” she grumbled.

“Well, considering **_my_** parents are dead, Clank’s dad got shot off to an alternative dimension at **_best_** and his mom’s a bit on the immobile side… family’s gotta stick together, right?”

“Right,” Talwyn said with a light smile, flicking Ratchet’s antenna. He blinked for a moment, before swatting away her hand.

“Tal, don’t do that, please; you just loosened a connector pin and disabled my primary auditory circuit func… holy crap, I’m actually talking like you, pal,” Ratchet said as he looked up at Clank, “ ** _and_** I understand it! I mean, I knew how to fix you before, you’re a pretty standard Blargian microbot controller, er, well, the robot body you inhabit is, at least, but it’s not like I knew what half the parts’ names were.”

Talwyn shook her head. “ ** _Please_** don’t tell me you’re becoming more like Ratchet, too.”

“Other than having a constant desire to eat something, likely due to Ratchet’s exceedingly high level of metabolic processes from extreme cardiovascular activities, I do not think so.”

Ratchet blinked in surprise. “I understood that too. You’re basically saying you’re hungry because I run around all the time so my body’s used to burning it off.”

“Ratchet, you have access to my database and processors, now, so this does not come as much of a surprise. If you asked me information on something I had not already known, I would probably be at a loss, myself, without them.”

Talwyn slumped an elbow on the table, fanning her free hand between the two. “Mind telling me exactly how this happened in the first place?”

“Nefarious,” Ratchet and Clank replied in frightening unison. “Or were you looking for further specification?” added in Clank after a moment’s freeze.

“One of his weird not-death rays, I’m guessing?” Talwyn asked with a flick of her hand.

“Yeah,” Ratchet replied, shifting in his booster seat.

“Why don’t we order, and you two idiots can tell me what you plan on doing so I can actually tag along this time?”

“Clank, pass me the menu. I’ll find you something that hopefully won’t disagree with you,” Ratchet asked, outstretching an arm and taking the leather- backed board from Clank. He scanned through it (in an oddly literal turn-of-phrase), and pointed out three different items. “Probably your best bet. Any of these should be fine.”

“You never made comments before about food you couldn’t eat,” Talwyn remarked, frowning. “You’ve nixed almost the whole menu.”

“Clank’s had an upset stomach ever since he took over, and Aphelion called in a doc.”

“Clank, I’m so sorry I didn’t…” Talwyn started, but Clank held up a fuzz- covered paw, blinking a few times when he saw the end of each fingertip capped with a sharp, white claw.

Ratchet shook his head, reached over, and massaged his nearest hand until fur-covered folds of skin re-rolled around the claws, until Clank never knew they had been there in the first place.

“Try sheathing the other ones yourself,” Ratchet said, before adding in a tone just above a mutter, “Man, those really need to be clipped.”

Clank stared at his right hand and tried to cover up Ratchet’s claws, before sighing, and holding his palm out to Ratchet to fix. He was getting hungrier than Qwark after doing any level of strenuous activity, such as basic addition, or breathing.

“And, are you doing okay, Ratchet?” Talwyn asked, trying desperately to change the subject as she hit the call button.

“I’ve had experience being a robot…” he replied shrugging, as he slowly worked the muscles in Clank’s fingertips until they relaxed, releasing the rolled-back skin, ignoring the gentle purr, and Tal’s light chuckle at hearing it. “Though I did mess up his heli-pack this morning and got a propeller shoved into the arm sheath. Could have been worse.”

The waiter knocked, was allowed in, scuttling to the lonesome table with a water pitcher and notepad, took orders, and left as quickly as he’d entered.

“You won’t need the next two pills, bud,” Ratchet said, as soon as the door was shut. “How long are they good for, anyway?” he asked Talwyn, as he pulled out the bottle, handing it to her to read. Clank held up a hand again, happy that his claws were nowhere to be seen.

“Try accessing the internet,” he said.

“While a good idea, signal’s blocked in here except emergency frequencies,” Tal replied, pointing to a sign next to the table, and prying the bottle from Ratchet’s hand. “Helps mitigate spying or recording.”

“Hmmm,” Clank considered, as he watched Talwyn handle the bottle with interest. “I wonder, as it would be easier for you to learn lombax through my processors, if you tried, would you still remember when you returned? Would the memory be attached to your mind or my sisterboard?”

“That runs into existential questions I **_really_** don’t want to think about, pal,” Ratchet replied, poking Clank (himself?) in the arm.

“Fair point,” Clank replied, as Talwyn looked up from her reading.

“Five years expiration,” she said, passing it back. “You probably should keep these for emergencies. Dad told me about treating lombaxes that didn’t get enough taurine in their diets. Also, that’s the first time I’ve **_ever_** heard you purr. You should, I dunno, meditate, get massages, or **_something_** if you can’t do it on your own. **_Especially_** with how often the two of you get dragged into trouble.”

“I’m supposed to…?” Ratchet asked. Clank poked him in the audio receptor for good measure.

“I did say I would ask medical information on your behalf.” Ratchet lowered his head into the center of his chassis, retracting his neck almost completely.

“Purring, in those who can, helps with bone and muscle repair. The ancient ancestor to lombaxes slept around eighteen hours a day and needed a natural way to heal. They even discovered that lombax purrs work on some other species, too. You can still ask for a holodisc of purring if you’re stuck in the hospital,” Talwyn said matter-of-factly before sipping from her water goblet.

Ratchet suddenly found the floor incredibly fascinating, and took a moment to consider volunteer work in a children’s hospital.

“So. What do you plan on doing from here?” Tal asked, Ratchet shooting his head and neck back to full extension.

Ratchet and Clank looked at each other before launching headfirst into explanations, words over words until Talwyn could barely make out who was saying what.

“Dunno. We have a week before we go back. Clank needs to learn how to handle weapon kickback while in my body, and probably some dodging maneuvers.”

“Ratchet should be learning how to catch me in a fall and act as a microbot controller. Nefarious has small swarms of them in his new base and my software is compatible with them to override their programming,” Clank added helpfully.

“Those nails need a trim.”

“I can hear my left shoulder joint squeaking, so that needs a tune up.”

“He needs to try pie.”

“He should really be learning some lombax.”

Tal slapped her hand over her face. “Okay, I get it. But how do you actually plan on stopping Nefarious?”

The silence that followed, Clank realized, was even more uncomfortable than the noise. He could hear Talwyn’s heart beat. Shaking out his head, he breathed out and slowed down.

“When we were confined to the DreadZone, Ratchet had a weapon modification that temporarily controlled the minds of lesser life-forms. Unfortunately, all of the weaponry used custom ammunition, locks, and safeties. But we only need the propellant modification.”

“That might not work on Lawrence of Nefarious-“ Talwyn started.

“No, but I see where you’re going with this,” Ratchet cut in. “Uh, sorry, Tal, for cutting you off. Make **_whatever they stick in the chamber with us_** hypnotized… but we’d still need someone to induce it.”

Clank gestured to Talwyn, who nodded in agreement.

“And we still need that mod. I mean, I have it lying around **_somewhere_** in our workshop on Fastoon, but… it needs a power cell they don’t make anymore and compatibility issues…”

“Between the two of us, I think we can manage.”

“Oh, that’s funny.”

“Why is that humorous?”

“How much fine-motor-skill have you used in the past… let’s see… sixteen hours?”

Clank blinked. “ ** _Oh,_** ” he muttered, realizing the concern.

“You tuned on and off some bathroom taps, clumsily. You put on some work pants, which have an elastic waist. And you ate bread. With your **_hands_** , no utensils. **_I_** helped you in that,” Ratchet commented, pointing to the suit, “opened the pill bottles, and took off all your armor.”

Clank looked down, ears drooping. “Lunch is about to become fairly awkward, yes?”

Talwyn laughed. “Oh, I wish I had a camera.”

“Just try not to get sauce all over my best formal shirt, pal?”

“This is your **_only_** formal attire.”

“Exactly.”

* * *

So who wants to see a life- size fuzzy lombax?

HAVE AT!

 


	5. 2:28 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: FOREIGN ENTITY DETECTED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey good lookin'. You needed another chapter.
> 
> Also, I just want to say a big thanks! to everyone who reviewed. You're awesome, and I welcome the feedback! I have a full outline for the entire plot of the story, but I may want to sneak in a few scenes of Ratchet and Clank being acclimated to each other. Any scenarios you'd like to see me add in? Post in the comments!

“Well.”

“Well?” Talwyn asked sweetly as the waiter disappeared, doing her best not to corpse, before loosing it with laughter.

Clank had picked up the fork, stabbing the piece of meat, followed by a second stab with the knife, rubbing it back and forth in a pretty hilarious display to try and cut a chunk off the still-simmering hunk of broiled squid. It looked less like eating and more like a bad attempt at playing the world’s smallest holoviolin.

“What are you, five?” Ratchet asked, jovially, watching Clank make an utter fool of himself with the silverware, before attempting to snatch it away himself, dropping it clumisily as well.

“Actually, I am thirteen,” Clank retorted. “And what was this about dexterity?”

“Your fingers are too fat for the cutlery,” Ratchet muttered in response.

“Mind if I step in?” Tal said, after a moment of watching the two fight over the knife.

Clank lowered his head, ears drooping. “Save me,” he finally breathed out, as Talwyn reached over, pushing a cloth napkin into his collar, before taking the tableware and slicing his food into neat pieces. “Just go ahead and stab,” she replied, handing him back the fork when done. “Thank the supernovas we didn’t get sushi.”

* * *

 

Clank, now full, and oddly happy at being so (with only a small amount of sauce on his fur, easily wiped away, and nothing staining the suit!), grumbled at his late afternoon predicament. “This is a **_terrible_** idea.”

Ratchet tried to laugh, before realizing he actually had to vocalize the words “Ha ha ha,” shaking his head in frustration in the harness and rubbing it against his own body’s scruff through the purple bodysuit Clank now wore. “We both need to be able to do this, you know.”

“You can attempt to glide us down over water; when you fail, and I mean this as no offense to you, but I would be impressed and surprised if you did not- we will both simply fall in. I would be concerned about drowning, but I have your rebreather; you can take all the time you need getting acquainted with my hydro-pack. It is me leaning to hoverboot that is making me uncomfortably nervous. I can guarantee that even with my reaction time, I will not be flying high enough off the ground for you to assist when I inevitably fall, and…”

“Clank?”

“Yes, Ratchet?”

“Shut up and hit the thrusters. You’re in armor. We have nanotech. Relax and, I dunno, enjoy the ride. Oh, and put in that mouth guard. I don’t want you biting off my tongue, thanks.”

“Your lack of concern…” Clank started, before sighing, adjusting the Nether helmet and popping open the visor to wear the mouthpiece before snapping it shut.

“You ready tin can?” Ratchet asked. Clank perked an ear, hitting it on the inside padded wall of the full helm, muttered out an “Mmmm-mmmh!” through the guard and kicked on the thrusters.

Now he understood why Ratchet tended to scream when using the blasted things.

* * *

 

Ratchet unhooked himself from the harness, patting Clank on the shin as the poor temporarily ex-robot slumped into a bench on the outer perimeter of Meridian City’s best skate park. If the constant sidelong glances were any indicator, the smattering of locals had a pretty good grasp that Ratchet was inside the infernally hot armor. Native of desert-hot Fastoon or otherwise, the lack of ventilation made even Ratchet’s body overheat from too much exercise (especially in a suit like that), and Clank could feel himself sweating profusely from his hands and feet, pulling off the gauntlets and the offending hoverboots.

Ratchet returned quickly with a glowing blue bottle from the vending machine near the gate, passing it to Clank. “Nanotech, salt, and water. Considering you’re leaking all over the freaking place, you could use all three,” he replied as jokingly as he could. He was beginning to get a grasp on Clank’s vocal modulators. Clank fumbled with the helmet before Ratchet stepped in to assist, and the two of them yanked it off together. Clank spat the mouth guard back into its case, wiped the spit off on a forearm, and attempted to twist off the cap. Ratchet snatched it back, opening it smoothly.

“I really ought to attempt fine motor skills myself.”

“You’re sweating straight through. **_I_** would never have been able to open it,” he said, holding out the bottle before reconsidering. “Drink slowly. I’m sure the EMT’s would have a field day trying to revive someone who choked on Nanotech. Oh, and it’s going to burn a little. Breathe through your nose while you do.”

Ratchet held the plastic bottle back out, which Clank carefully took. “First time for everything, I suppose,” Clank said before taking a sip. It tasted… odd. Sharp, sweet as the bread from the morning… and dry. Salty, probably, if he remembered what the effect of various flavors was for organics. Not unpleasant, just odd. He could feel a slight burn as the nanites washed down Ratchet’s throat and dispersed themselves to the bruising he’d acquired in the last few hours. The kink in his tail, the twist in his shoulder, the pain from a scraped knee- all seemed to melt away as he slowly sipped down the contents of the bottle.

“Pass it back, close your eyes, and just breathe,” Ratchet said, as Clank took in the last few sips. Clank did as instructed. “Well?”

“I… am not in any pain, but… I feel as though I need rest.”

“Physical exhaustion,” Ratchet replied, nodding. “Let’s call it a day. I’ll hail a cab and-“

“Hey whoah…” a very brave looking Markazian cried out, dragging two friends over to size up the lombax. “I’ve seen you on HV. You’re Ratchet, right?”

Clank pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to pull himself into character. “Yeah?”

“You wanna do a few tricks for us? Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaase?”

Clank accidentally sunk a fang into his tongue, tasting blood. “Sorry, I’m a bit burned out, and I didn’t bring my board.”

“Yeah, we saw you eating dirt with those hoverboots. Man, that stuff’s **_oldschool_**.”

“Ratchet was attempting to learn how to use them,” Ratchet said, flatly, trying to help retain his image and help Clank out. “His father left them behind and we were both curious as to their efficacy.” **_Efficacy_** , Ratchet thought to himself. Twenty-four hours ago it was a word he would have just ignored if Clank said it, let alone know the meaning. Now, synonyms just sort of… appeared to him.

Clank picked up on the train of thought and finished. “Yeah. They need some work, and heck, **_I_** need some work usin’ ‘em, but they’re pretty sweet, as far as gifts go. But, yeah, sorry. You saw me wipe the floor while trying them out. I’m not really in a position to hoverboard right now.”

“Aw man.”

“We **_could_** always return next week,” Ratchet intervened.

“Coooooool. Promise?”

“No guarantees, kid, but I’ll try,” Clank replied, as he put the shoes back on and wobbly rose to his feet.

“Man,” one of the trio said as Clank walked off with Ratchet astride instead of on his back. “My uncle still has a pair. Maybe I should see if they fit?”

* * *

 

“I am **_so_** glad I can’t smell right now,” Ratchet groaned, looking at the gloves and boots Clank discarded at the entryway. “This stuff’s going to need to be cleaned properly. Thank the supernovas I only sweat from my pads and don’t sweat all over like Markazians, but you still could use a bath, and- **_ew_**. Gross.” Ratchet put a blocky metal hand to his forehead, as Clank pulled the jumpsuit off and down to the waist. “You still have some toad ooze sticking to my fur. From **_yesterday_**.” Ratchet huffed indignantly as Clank stripped completely, fumbling with buckles and zippers, partially at watching Clank’s feeble display of coordination and partly from realizing that the goo would be all over the back of his suit shirt and both jumpsuits Clank had worn since taking over.

Ratchet wanted to help, but decided to go run the taps instead- Clank needed to get used to using his hands; Ratchet could only do so much as far as repairs or maintenance was concerned in Clank’s body (with both fewer and chunkier digits). It was really going to be Clank and Talwyn, both of whom were decent, but not as good as Ratchet, who would be modifying Ratchet’s equipment to work on their little ruse planned for a few day’s time.

“Did you even use shampoo when you took a bath yesterday?” Ratchet called from the bathroom as Clank sauntered in, properly using his tail for balance and sliding into the hot water while Ratchet simply shook his head, exasperated, though a bit chuffed that Clank had picked up walking enough to swagger a little.

Clank flipped around to face him and shrugged, as Ratchet took a good look at his own body in the tub. He was so small, so skinny, so exhausted looking.  His fur was thinning in patches where, if he remembered Alister or Angela, wasn’t supposed to be the case. “Was I supposed to?” Clank asked, embarrassed, ears drooping, snapping Ratchet out of his thoughts.

“How else do you think you get goo from fur? Water alone won’t cut it,” Ratchet retorted, smiling with his eyes as he ran back to the main room, fishing in his suitcase for a pack of travel shampoo, hovering back to the bathroom and holding it up to Clank, who was resting his head in his arms draped on the side of the tub, eyes closed and purring lightly.

Ratchet ground his gears (or, more precisely, twisted and locked up the pair of servos holding his jaw in place), muttering, “Purring is good for me,” as he squirted the shampoo into his palm. “Head down a bit more,” he added a little louder, as he began to rub the goo into his own fur, before realizing Clank would have heard him regardless. “I am **_still_** not used to this,” he added, watching as his own tail thrashed in the water, noting that he was hitting one of his own ticklish spots on the crown of his head. “Here. Chest, arms, legs, feet, make sure to clean off your palms and soles so the sweat salt doesn’t stick to ‘em” Ratchet said thrusting out the bottle to Clank. “I’ll get the bile and ooze off your back, so flip facing away.”

Clank turned around, splashing, and began roughly rubbing in the shampoo into his forearm, while Ratchet began attacking the gunk on his own back in silence.

“Man, the last time someone had to help bathe me was after Drek,” Ratchet eventually commented with a high pitched squeal (he’d intended a laugh but Clank’s vocals were still not **_quite_** under his control, despite his increasing ability to modulate tone), carefully sudsing his own ears while avoiding getting shampoo into the holes leading to his ear canals.

“You were bedridden for three weeks…” Clank eventually commented. “Nanotech or otherwise, Drek’s machination nearly crushed you.”

“Hey, at least the nurses were nice,” Ratchet replied, idly. “How you holding up?”

“Tired. Hungry. And my muscles ache,” Clank said honestly. “Being an organic… it requires far more daily maintenance than I expected. I thought my own routine took too long, but…”

“Meh. You’re easy,” Ratchet replied. “And replacing your oil and coolant tanks isn’t so hard.”

“I am going to have to do that for you,” Clank mused.

“Let’s get you fed first, because-“

Both stopped immediately, Clank perking both ears, as they listened again, before a knock on the bathroom door.

“Please tell me that’s Ratchet in there,” a jovial sounding voice intoned.

“Oh, yeah, hi, Big Al,” Clank responded.

“I’ll use the bathroom in the shop then,” he commented.

“You know, you didn’t need to come all the way out to Polaris…” Clank said. He vaguely remembered Ratchet punching in a message to Al as they had headed for Meridian the day before.

“And **_you_** don't need to pretend you’re Ratchet around me. Aphelion filled me in. I hope you don’t mind, but I had her move to a different spot on the roof. You parked her on the emergency-landing pad. There’s a teleport chute there for ICU cyborg parts, you know.”

“Sorry,” the real Ratchet said sheepishly from his side of the door. “My bad on that one.”

“Nah, you didn’t notice. I’ll be back in a few.”

* * *

 

“Thank goodness Aphelion sent me that encrypted message,” Al commented, as he pulled out some tools, messing around in Ratchet’s insides. “Oh, and Talwyn is stopping by with some dinner. Clank, you can take my bed, you need the rest more than I do,” he added with a wave of his organic hand while his robotic one, coated in incredibly real-looking fake skin of his own design, continued to prod around inside Ratchet’s sisterboards.

“This isn’t so good, I’ll be honest,” Al finally said as he closed the maintenance shutter.

“What’s not…?” Ratchet replied worried, before Al began loosening some bolts separating Ratchet’s neck from the main chassis. “Okay, this is weird,” Ratchet added, as his head was popped clean off. Clank, hastily dressed in another pair of work pants and attempting to put on a shirt, half-laughed and half snorted in commiseration of seeing his body spread out in pieces on the table.

“Yeah, we need you two back where you belong,” Al added, after a silence.

“Well, I mean, that’s the goal, but…why so serious when you say it?” Ratchet looked at his arm lying halfway across the table and moved the finger joints remotely. **_Still weird._** he mused, before closing his eye shutters so he could stop thinking about it.

Al pinched the bridge of his nose, adjusting his HUD glass. “You stay like that too long and Clank’s antivirus… well, it’s going to start reprogramming you.”

“What?!” Ratchet and Clank cried in unison.

“That would explain Ratchet’s slight shifts in behavior,” Clank mused, flopping down on the sofa.

“No, that’s just Ratchet with access to a lot more stuff. I changed quite a bit too, after this,” Al commented, gesturing to the half of his body that was now mechanical. “Having a processor instead of a brain will do that- or augmenting, in my case. And, thankfully, the AV’s just feeling out what’s wrong with the system right now; it hasn’t actually started attacking Ratchet yet or anything. I disabled it, but that also means, for both of your safety, I turned off a whole host of other processes too. No internet access, no remote relay with other devices.”

“Wait, you mean I can’t ping Aphelion or use internal messaging? How are we supposed to coordinate anything?” Ratchet asked, as Al continued poking around inside his head.

“The old fashioned way. I’ll get you guys some cellphones.”

“What is this, the year 3000?”

“Look, I built that antivirus. I can reprogram it, but it’s going to take time and I’m concerned about the security holes it’ll cause. It’s **_meant_** for Clank. It’s meant to recognize his personality and thought pattern within a certain level of tolerance. It shifts over time as he learns new things and grows, but this is **_exactly_** the shock to his system it’s designed to detect. What if Nefarious rewrote him? Or **_anyone_**? I don’t care that he has a soul, he’s still housed as a robot, and that means his brain **_can_** and **_could_** be reprogrammed at will,” Al sighed, and began putting Ratchet back together, buffing the parts with a rag and wax as he went. “At the same time, I… I dunno. After dealing with Nefarious and the Biobliterator, those years back, I wrote some secondary code of our own basic parameters, yours, mine, Skidd’s, Sasha’s… everyone on the Q Force. In case Nefarious did try something like this,” he added with a sweep of his organic hand between Ratchet and Clank. “But that many personalities as acceptable matches means it’s less likely for the antivirus to detect a true infiltration. Adding in Ratchet… that means you’ll be a bit more likely to have some problems down the line, Clank, but I could turn all the wireless functions back on. It’s your choice. For now, they’re off.”

“Your body,” Ratchet finally commented, as his neck axis was shoved back into his head and screwed in place.

“No need to make the decision now,” Al replied, as his HUD flashed purple. “And Talwyn’s just arrived anyway. I’ll go let her in.”

“Hey!” Ratchet cried, sitting up on the table and brandishing one of the limbs Al had removed during diagnostics. “At least finish with your patient first!”


	6. 7:47 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al takes care of Ratchet, and Talwyn takes care of Clank.
> 
> Everyone takes care of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reviews! Also, there's some freaking heavy foreshadowing in this chapter...
> 
> Whippersnappers.

Clank polished off the last of a helping of Markazian takeout with Talwyn at the breakfast bar while Al, having already eaten on the shuttle over, laid out the remaining pieces of Ratchet on a tarp in the center of the room, cleaning and buffing the limbs and checking for needed repairs.

“When was your last oil change?” he asked to the air, knowing that either of the demolition duo would know the answer.

“Month ago, so about due,” Ratchet replied. “Coolant, too.”

“One of my reps logged some repairs on you this morning,” Al replied, standing up and stretching out. “ I was checking service records on the way over. They didn’t refresh the tanks? Supposed to be provi

* * *

ding that service free of charge.”

“I was in kind of a rush. Clank needed food and medicine,” Ratchet responded quickly, defending the attendant that had fixed his hand that morning. “They did offer, though.”

Al nodded knowingly, scooping up a currently legless Ratchet. “Faster to bring you down there than bring the supplies up,” he commented, before turning to Clank and Talwyn, “No breaking things while I’m gone,” he added, jokingly. “I don’t need **_another_** robot guy.”

Talwyn groaned at the terrible joke, but Clank wiped the sauce from his fur and stood. “If it is not too strange…?”

Al grinned. “You want to help?”

“It is still quite odd watching my systems from outside.”

“Let’s see…” Al said mumbling to himself as he turned on the lights of the backroom in the shop below. “Clank, roll me that tank, please.” He deposited Ratchet on a tool bench, flat on his back with the leg sockets still exposed, and ran a thin tube up one of the holes.

“I guess it’s kinda like getting an IV?” Ratchet mused aloud. “Except I don’t feel anything.”

“You also use a funnel straight into the receptacle,” Clank replied, watching in awe as the oil drained out of the tank at high speed.

“Well, I don’t have 10 million bolt equipment for your maintenance,” Ratchet retorted, as Al pulled out one tube and searched for another.  
“Try not to think too hard; I’m going to replace your coolant and I don’t need you overheating and blowing a gasket,” Al warned.

“May I?” Clank asked.

“Sure,” Al replied, handing Clank a narrow tube with a needle end, held on a long, thin pair of tweezers. “Keep a stiff grip on these, and thread it through the connection point,” he instructed, shining a light up and into Ratchet’s leg. “The end of the needle is magnetized, so just move it around slowly until it clicks into place. If you’re being repelled, you’re getting too close to the oil feed. Don’t want to mix those up, or else you’d start leaking.”

“Wait…” Ratchet said, as Clank did what Al told him to. “Oh. Well that explains the exhaust leaks.”

“And that’s why you don’t use a funnel,” Al chided, keeping an eye on Clank. “At the very least, magnetize the tips so you know which is which. Oil is north polarity, coolant is south. His tanks can eventually sort it out, but they’ll leak out some of the excess.” Al crossed his arms. “Or, you two idiots could come back here and get it done properly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ratchet grumbled, leaning his head forward to watch the bright blue liquid drained out of him, before Al unplugged the hose from one part of the machine and clicked it into the other, filling up the tank. A small amount of condensation pooled on Ratchet’s square chest.

“You’re cooling down too fast,” Al noted. “Hey, does a set of all sets contain itself?”

“Well, yeah, because it… wait, no, ugh,” Ratchet groaned. Al lightly grabbed Clank by the wrist and pressed his hand to Ratchet’s chest. Clank smiled.

“You are heating up from trying to process a paradox,” Clank chuckled out.

“Oh, well, ugh. I can’t even blow a raspberry at you. No lips, no tongue. So **_pfffffbbbbt_**.”

Al pressed a finger to Ratchet’s chest and nodded in approval. “300 degrees Kelvin. Perfect.” He carefully tweezed out the thin tube and sat down at the head of the bench. “Let’s get your legs back on,” he said.

“How were you able to discern it so accurately?” Clank asked, sitting down next to him and watching with interest as Al put his body back in place.

Al peeled back the fake skin, revealing a pressure sensor, before rolling it back over the metal alloy, and Clank nodded knowingly. “But honestly? You start just knowing ranges, hot and cold. There are more sensors in an organic hand then there are on most of you,” he added, sweeping back to Ratchet. “The Blarg haven’t made microbots like you in over ten years, now. And even after you get all this sorted out, since you’ve got a soul, I can’t just pull out your sisterboards, temp-store your AI somewhere else, and give you a new shell. You’ve got this one for keeps. I could maybe do some minor sensory upgrades? What do you have right now? A HZ lift and carry?”

“And a Mark 7 spatial awareness drive.”

“I can at least mod that with an old G-65… I don’t think I have one here, but… oh! Those old VR sets should have one. Let me see if I have one here I can scrap for you. You should be able to sense temperature, and have a pressure sensor to match your spatial awareness. Gimmie five.”

Talwyn slid into the cramped workroom to take Al’s place as he left, pulling up a stool to join Ratchet and Clank.

“You’ll be back where you should be soon,” she said, crossing her arms on the table and looking at Ratchet.

“Man, just as we are stating to get used to this,” Ratchet joked, sitting up and flexing his ankles and fingers.

Clank reached out. “This morning you were malfunctioning, but now you do not have propeller blades sticking out of you. May I?”

Ratchet stood up on the workbench. “Knock yourself out.”

Clank carefully lifted up Ratchet by the ‘armpit’ cables, running his fingers over the metal, moving an eyelid, lifting his jaw, bending an arm at the elbow and examining his tiny metallic form with care. Ratchet loosened his control on the servos akin to going limp as best he could, letting Clank have a good look at his own form.

“I… am like a children’s toy,” he mused aloud, turning Ratchet over in his hands. “I forget how small I am.” He bent a knee, listening to the faint hum of a servo. “I cannot believe this is… me. I’m lifting myself up and holding myself in your fingers.” He took a moment to pause, and frowned. “Also, Ratchet, if you plan on hibernating like that, please enter sleep mode proper or do some mental calculations. You are getting too cold; that is bad for my sisterboards. I promise you, I am operable through 500 degrees Kelvin, so you will not overheat.”

Ratchet squinted, trying to figure out how to go into sleep mode through his processes, realizing he hadn’t actually slept in… well, since the day before they stormed Nefarious’s hideout. And he wasn’t even the slightest bit tired, before…

Talwyn reached over, planting a light kiss on Ratchet’s forehead; Clank almost dropped in surprise as Ratchet began heating up quickly, embarrassed.

“Yuck, tastes like wax,” Tal joked, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve.

“Wha… what did you do that for?” Ratchet stammered, as Clank gently set him back down on the table.

Talwyn smiled. “Well, when you’re back to normal, you can kiss me back.”

Al rounded back into the tiny room, and he hand Talwyn swapped places again; Talwyn and Clank both smirking heavily, Al oblivious to the pair. He reached to pick up Ratchet to begin the modifications before yelping and hissing, shaking out his organic hand.

“Ow. Owowowow. Son of a Qwark, do I need to replace your coolant already?”

* * *

 

Ratchet grabbed Clank’s wrist in one hand and Talwyn’s in another. “Yep. I can tell there’s a difference,” he said proudly. It wasn’t like having his own hands, but it was definitely better than earlier that day. Ratchet looked down at his six blocky fingers, the visible circuit pattern of the gutted haptic feed system from the old game console crisscrossing along them and up the palms. He squeezed Talwyn’s a bit tighter, feeling her pulse at the wrist and the warmth because of it. He didn’t realize just how much he missed the feeling, or that he’d already accustomed so quickly to his new (temporary) lot in life.

“Think it’s time to call it a night?” Al asked.

“Yeah,” Talwyn replied. “I should get back to my ship.”

“I have an extra futon if you want it,” Al replied, shrugging, cleaning off his tools. “But, your call.”

“No, staying here would be… nice. The station’s been…”

Clank frowned. “We may still be able to find them,” he said, squeezing Ratchet’s other hand back before standing up and shuffling out of the workstation.

“Find what? Some debris?” Talwyn replied, raising her voice just a hair. Ratchet watched Clank’s fur instinctually puff and his ears raise in surprise. “Sorry… sorry. I’m just…”

“But that is **_not_** what I meant. Prison ships are equipped with black boxes, and all of the robots, self included, regularly interfaced with the mainframe for backups. Their AI is still stored, and would be ad infinum. Ratchet and I have been sweeping the sector for months in between work.”

“ ** _What_**?!” Talwyn stopped cold and pulled Clank into a death grip. “Why… why haven’t you said anything? I could have sent out… paid for and sent out a massive search…”

Talwyn slumped on the floor; Al and Clank did their best to right her and walk her up the stairs while Ratchet simply patted her on the shin. He wanted to be the one comforting her… he knew she liked petting his fur and she was one of the few people he allowed to do so. Tal looked as though she wanted to touch, to hold tight, but couldn’t figure out whom to latch on to.

Al helped her to the sofa, and Ratchet and Clank looked at each other knowingly, sitting on her sides as she grabbed both of them, holding tight.

“You **_know_** why we didn’t say anything,” Ratchet eventually whispered. “We didn’t want to get your hopes up, and, as that ship was dealing with classified information… a civilian search would not have been possible.”

“I… I know. That doesn’t make it hurt less,” she said, pulling them in tighter.

“We **_will_** find them, Talwyn,” Clank replied sternly, before yipping slightly. “What **_was_** that?”

Talwyn grinned, poking Clank’s shoulder again. “I see you haven’t been stretching properly. **_Both_** of you. **_That_** is a knot, and a pretty bad one. Ratchet got some maintenance done, let’s take care of you.” She scooped Clank up in a fireman’s carry, Al shaking his head and sighing as he raided his fridge for a drink, while Clank squirmed, thrashing his tail.

“I don’t know, Ratchet. You’d better watch out. She’s probably going to propose to **_both_** of you one of these days,” he added, as he slammed the fridge shut.

“Speaking of, how are you and IRIS?” Ratchet asked, as he hovered over to his suitcase, fumbling around in it for his nail clippers and a small vial of liquid wax, glad he could tell the difference between his clothes and other items by touch again.

“Well, I **_was_** planning on asking her hand… er, metaphorically speaking of course, given her lack of, you know, hands, or arms for that matter, but you two looked like you could use some support. It’s not like the mechanical keyboard I got as an engagement present is going to rot in the next few days.”

“Awwww. She’ll love it,” Ratchet said, shutting the case and dragging it to a corner of the room so Al could set up the guest beds. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to help Talwyn assault myself,” he added, holding out the clippers, clicking them open and shut. “Seriously. I needed those cut, like, last week.”

Al rolled his one organic eye and cracked open the bottle of seltzer. “Just let me know if you need a charging dock. I’m going to set up the futons and crash.”

“Thanks, Al,” Ratchet replied, hovering to the bedroom.

He meant it.

* * *

 

Clank was shirtless, face down in the bed while Talwyn carefully dug a finger into a knot. Ratchet watched with interest as every so often, his tail would shoot to the sky in a knee-jerk response, and the purring was hilariously audible. In his distraction, Ratchet teased out his own claws from their sheaths and clipped, careful to avoid the quip, snipping rapidly. Thank goodness Ratchet was small, and the nail clippers were Cazar children’s safety clips, easy enough for Ratchet to handle with his blocky hands.

“How you holding up, pal?” Ratchet asked, checking his fingertips before releasing Clank’s hand. Clank purred louder.

“You said you looked like a children’s toy. Heck, **_I_** look like a stuffed animal,” Ratchet joked, hovering over the bed to the other side to clip his other five nails.

“Face it Ratchet, you’re adorable,” Talwyn replied, resuming, as Ratchet quickly cut the claws on his other hand.

“Now your feet…” Ratchet commented. “I need a rotary for that. I’ll have to wait for another day. It’s late, and using one is noisy and messy. Plus I really **_really_** don’t want to screw that up and make you bleed. Figured out how to draw and sheathe my claws yet?”

“No,” Clank grumbled into the pillow. “And with them clipped, there is little reason for me to use them as a weapon of last resort. So there is no need.”

“Point,” Ratchet replied, hovering up to the bed, as Talwyn finished elbowing Clank’s deltoid, getting one final mewl from him.

“You two are the cutest things ever,” Talwyn commented, sitting on the floor, cracking her own knuckles.

“I’m not sure whether I should be insulted at a dig to my masculinity of happy a cute girl called me cute,” Ratchet responded.

“Get some rest, you two. I’ll see you in the morning. I can fly out to Fastoon and grab your supplies; you two need more training and the detour won’t do you any favors.”

“You want to make a sweep around the Zarkov Sector on the way, do you not?” Clank asked, sitting upright.

“Guilty,” she replied.

“Just… do be careful?” Clank asked, ears perked. Ratchet watched his own body language more closely, seeing how much was simply what Clank likely observed from him.

Talwyn stood up and pulled Clank in close, digging her face into his fur. “I’m not letting us lose anyone else.” She took a deep breath, let go, then scooped up Ratchet and gave him a tight squeeze.

“Night, idiots.”

“Night, bigger idiot,” Ratchet called back as she shut the door.

Clank sighed, and shimmied to get under the covers. “I suggest you turn off for the evening. Unlike last night, when you were keeping an eye on Aphelion, you have nothing to do tonight. Let your mind rest.”

“Yeah.”

Clank turned on his side and clicked the light off, closing his eyes, trying to get comfortable, shifting in bed repeatedly.

“Ratchet?”

“Yes?”

“I cannot seem to fall asleep.”

“You crashed yesterday, I figured tonight might be a bit harder. Here,” Ratchet hovered up to the bed, turning on the infrared sensor and sitting next to Clank, pulling out the wax vial.

“I have noticed a similar vial before. Do you take sleep aids?”

“I did, for a while, and slowly weaned myself off of them,” Ratchet replied honestly. “Losing you after the clock… it wasn’t easy. No, this is just scented wax.” Ratchet flipped the bottle upside down on Clank’s snout, running the sponge blotter just above his nose. “Okay. Lay on your back, not your side, and spread your legs out a bit and stretch.” Clank did as he was told, straightening out his spine all the way down to his tail. “Close your eyes, and listen. I usually used the sound of your servos as a grounding point. Do you hear them?”

“Yes.”

“Just listen to me tick, and breathe in deeply with your nose, count to five, and out though your mouth. Follow my timing.”

“One, two…”

“No, pal, don’t say it aloud. Just listen.”

Clank settled his head on the pillow and let his ears relax, smelling the wax and following the sound of his own body’s servos.

Breathe in…

One… Two… Three… Four… Five…

And out.

In…

One… Two… Three… Four… Five…

And out.

In…

One… Two… Three… Four… Five…

And…

Ratchet hopped off the bed as quietly as he could when he heard Clank begin to snore.

“Sweet dreams,” Ratchet mumbled, as he slipped out the door.

There was a two-cubit HV in Al’s rec room with a NeoGamer7 he wanted to go play.


End file.
